Monday Night Vinyl

I squeaked out my two workouts today, 3000m in the pool this morning and the abominable Monday night 45 minute circuit training class at the YMCA this evening.  Afterwards, I taught my hour Master’s spin class and now, I’m eating chicken Caesar salad that Kelly lovingly left us for dinner and listening to a cheesy 80’s soundtrack – ‘The Breakfast Club‘.

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If that doesn’t scream ‘Twas the Monday before Christmas‘, I don’t know what does.

Anyone who remembers the 80’s will instantly recognize the opening chords of this albums’ opening track:

“Hey.  Hey.  Hey.  Hey.”

I know.

That’s some deep shit right?

What they did do successfully however, was pretty much define an entire decade worth of music in a single word…repeated four times.

Of course, I’m referring to the signature song from this album ‘Don’t You (Forget About Me)‘ by Simple Minds; arguably, the most successful and famous song they ever recorded.  It was one of the few new wave songs that could seriously be called an anthem, the song made an indelible impression on an entire generation, which is no exaggeration for many Gen-Xers. ‘Don’t You (Forget About Me)‘  is the sound of the mid-’80s, without exception.

Too bad it’s the only memorable thing about the soundtrack.  The remainder of the record is either devoted to ’80s artifacts – there’s really no other word for leftovers from Wang Chung or songs by Karla DeVito, Jesse Johnson, and Elizabeth Daily, or forgettable instrumentals by Keith Forsey.  Ironically, the very fact that the soundtrack is disposable makes it all the more a time capsule and thereby interesting, but don’t expect to be blown away by anything outside of Simple Minds’ undisputed masterpiece. By the way, nothing is more emblematic of the Reagan era than the fact that a worthy band became famous – in fact, synonymous – for a song they didn’t even write.

So why this particular soundtrack tonight?

Well, this album has been on HRH‘s “Vinyl Wish List” for some time now.  For an album that pretty much sucks (shh, don’t tell her I said that) it sure was hard as fuck to actually find as she’s been searching for it for now about 10 months now to no avail.

And then…there it was…in more or less perfect condition…sitting on the shelf at Imagine Books & Records in San Antonio, Texas.  I just about shit my pants right there. Actually, I did almost shat my pants when I tried to crop dust a fart at the back of the store after eating a chicken-fried steak the size of my head bu, still, I was excited to have at long last found the literal Holy Grail of albums for HRH  and earning me some serious “Cool Step-Dad” points in the process…even if it is currently giving me the heebie-jeebies.

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About crazytigerrabbitman

I am a fat guy and always will be in the same way they say that “once an alcoholic; always an alcoholic”. Eventually I got upset about my poor health and ballooning body frame so I decided to change things for the better. Some people sign up for Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, or whatever fad diet program it is that happens to be occupying the majority of air time on the boob tube. Other people prefer to run out and purchase the latest, fold away, piece of shit being hawked by some celebrity has-been. Me? I decided to take up triathlon. I had abused my body over the years with bacon cheeseburgers, pints of beer and double-dipped donuts, and the time had now come to abuse my body with physical exertion, perseverance and hard work instead; penitence in it's purest form. The time had come to kick my ass. I am Terry Nash and I am the “fat and the furious”.
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